


Nicotine Stain

by TheKillingJar



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25198459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKillingJar/pseuds/TheKillingJar
Summary: In which shotgunning a cigarette leads to something beautiful.
Relationships: Christophe "The Mole"/Pete Thelman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Nicotine Stain

_"It's just a habit when I reach to the packet_

_For my last cigarette, until the day breaks_ _"_

_~Nicotine Stain, Siouxsie and the Banshees_

* * *

**i. Then my hand shakes**

Peter shuffled through the snow from his best friend's house at nearly four in the morning. Ordinarily, he would have just spent the night - despite it being a school night - but there were chores to be done in his little trailer home. He blew them off as long as he dared and really did not want to hear his mother bitch about it. Thus, as soon as Michael emitted a faint snore Pete bid an unnoticed farewell and showed himself out.

The lighter between his fingers felt almost heavy, he blamed sleep deprivation. Pete sort of wished he woke Michael up and asked for a ride. The older boy even offered before he fell asleep. However, he felt that he had grown too dependent on his tall friend ever since he got a car. Plus he never even paid for gas.

Not to mention the that old bastard of a car would have surely woken up Michael's parents.

 _"God his parents are such dicks."_ Best to let (evil) sleeping dogs lie.

With a clove cigarette- which he scored from Henrietta...who probably beat up a theatre kid for it - he took a much needed drag. Content, he watched as grey tendrils went up into the indigo sky.

" 'Ey!" A rough voice caught his attention. "Mind eef I bum one of zose from you?" Pete looked to his side to see a face he vaguely recognized. A classmate, perhaps?

"Sorry. This is my last one."

The tan boy sighed in frustration and nearly left without a word another word.

"W-wait! We can share this one...If you want." He stammered, heat raised to his face. Never was he so direct but there was something about the gruff voice and smooth accent that made Pete dislike the idea of such a hasty departure.

The other boy blinked. "I'd appreeciate zat, zank you."

"Yeah, I'll shotgun it." He tapped his finger against the fag to rid it of excess ash, turned it around, and slid it into his mouth. Careful to avoid the heat, his tongue kept it in place against the roof of his mouth as he blew out.

The mystery boy took the exposed filter into his own mouth and took a long, deep drag. His eyes slowly closed in bliss. All the while Pete surveyed the face but a few inches away from his own. Mussed hair the color of coffee before creamer was added. Faint scars of pinks and whites. Prominent bags under his eyes along with premature crows feet.

When the boy pulled away he offered one of those smiles that comes across as more of a grimace. "Zanks."

"A-anytime." With that the two boys parted ways.

* * *

**ii. It's driving me insane**

A few weeks passed without the unknown boy making another appearance.

In the dead of night Peter was seated on the bench by Stark's Pond. He considered calling his friends, if only to get a light for the Virginia Slim that hung from his lips. Damn.

 _"Cheap as fuck lighter."_ He barely got it a couple days ago and it was already out of juice. All he wanted after getting off his night shift from the Tweak Bros. Coffee House was a smoke. The world was against him.

"Looks like you could use a light, _mon petit ami_." The same gruff voice rang in his ears. The boy sat beside him.

Pete exhaled heavily through his nose. "If I don't get one I might just drown myself in the pond."

The Frenchman chuckled. "'Ere." He reached into his pocket, his eyes widened a bit as his fingers fiddled around. "Eet seems I've lost my ligh'zer. Fuck!"

Pete snorted. "Thankfully you already lit one." He lent toward the lit cigarette clenched between the other boy's teeth. He took the hint. He leaned and pressed his burning tip to the tip of Pete's cigarette.

Silence over took them as they waited for Pete's to take the heat. The goth couldn't help but notice the position they were in was reminiscent of a kiss. It certainly would've been a very goth way of showing affection. 

When the deed was done his new acquaintance moved back and he followed suit. 

The silence returned. It was an odd silence, not comfortable as it was among his friends, but it wasn't entirely bad. Maybe he just was not used to the other's presence.

"So, ah, you got a name?" The words were awkward, a clear broadcast of his unfamiliarity with small talk.

"My eessociates call me "Ze Mole"", Pete blinked, "But you may call me Christophe."

"Pete." The boy - _Christophe_ \- grunted.

Quiet crept upon them again as they smoked. Pete sniffed. Words were never his thing. All of his friends could practically read each others minds. So he swallowed all of his inhibitions, exhaled smoke through his nose, and lightly grazed his fingers along a few faded scars on Christophe's face.

Christophe instantly went rigid and eyed Pete with extreme caution. Pete tilted his head in curiosity before he withdrew his hand. Quickly, he flipped his bangs from his face in an attempt to ignore the rush of blood there. He'd like to blame his sudden disregard for boundaries from the surge of nicotine and god only knows what other carcinogens flowing through his system. 

"Zey are from my work." A scowl ate at his features. "Zey are everyzwere."

"Hardcore."

The Mole only raised a thick eyebrow before a throaty chuckle escaped him.

"And 'ow!" Another chuckle. "Unlike your cigarette. Eets pretty girly."

"Yeah..." He didn't take it as an insult. Pete knew very well it was a girl's brand, but goths don't conform to gender norms.

"Eet suits you, zough. Your 'ands are very _petit_ and slender."

Peter coughed on the smoke in his lungs. "Er, thanks." There was no way he could ignore the blush in his cheeks now.

Christophe took one last powerful drag before he threw the filter into the snow. He stood and ground it beneath his boot. Pete knew he himself would be flat on his ass if he ever tried standing after a drag like that.

"Well I'm off. _Au revoir_."

"Bye." Pete watched him leave, transfixed. Once he was out of sight he threw his head back and sighed out the last of his cigarette. The goth couldn't blame the _slight_ yearning to see the other's hardened features illuminated by the soft orange glow of their stooges on said stooges' toxins. "I don't exist when you're not here." He hummed the song to himself.

* * *

 **iii.** **When the smoke gets in my brain I can't resist it**

"We 'ave to stop meeting like zis." He grinned.

Pete could only offer a lilliputian smile of his own.

"I'm the one who needs to bum the cigarette this time." A dramatic huff. "Fate, maybe."

"Fuck fate, fuck ze will of God." Pete merely raised a slim brow, not being very religious himself. "Ironic, zough. Zis eez my last one."

"Ironic indeed. Especially if we shotgunned again."

"Zen we will." Christophe took an extensive drag and pulled his cigarette from his mouth. Pete's brow furrowed in confusion when Christophe invaded his personal space.

Before he could even summon the courage to question the Frenchman's actions a set of chapped lips smashed upon his own.

Initially he froze, but Christophe's tongue prodded against his lower lip and he automatically complied, welcoming him in. Tout de suite, the taller boy breathed into his mouth. Nicotine and a sort of ashy taste consumed him. Toxins he was well accustomed to filled his lungs, his whole being. Inhaled. Exhaled shackily through his nose. Tobacco and nicotine were certainly therapeutic.

He opened his eyes which he hadn't realised were even closed. Amidst the haze of smoke he saw Christophe starring back at him. The surly boy had yet to remove himself from Pete, his moss green eyes filled with quary.

Shyly, he let his tongue explore the orifice pressed to his. Christophe responded with vigor. The two violently fought for dominance, possessing the same flavour.

Peter was the first to seperate.

"So...?"

Christophe grabbed his hands and held them. Subconsciously, Pete's thumbs rubbed random little patterns and occult symbols on the other's callused hands.

"So...We will be seeing a lot more of eacho'zere?"

Pete hummed mildly. "I wouldn't mind that."

"Good," he grinned, "Come. I'll buy uz both a pack."

Those words were music to Pete's ears.

* * *

_"Wallow in that ash bath_

_Soaking up the fumes_

_And see the nicotine stain_

_Start to spread"_

_~Nicotine Stain, Siouxsie and the Banshees_

**Author's Note:**

> Importing a super old work that was equally bad, but I adore the pairing!! Fixed up a bit. The song Pete refers to is When You Don't See Me by The Sisters of Mercy.


End file.
